“But you’re the only one on my shit list,” joked Marissa through the intercom.
“What’s wrong with the buffalo chicken?” whispered Hassan. “Also… is it made of buffalo or chicken?”
“Chicken, at least theoretically. And it’ll give you the Mount Vesuvius of shits,” said Marissa, removing her finger from the transmit button. “The egg omelet, too. Don’t even bother with Tabasco sauce with that one; it will roast your sphincter from the inside out without even doing you the courtesy of improving the taste.”
Hassan just nodded uncomfortably as Jonah loaded the pass-through hatch with the rescued meals.
“Did you bring the magazines?” asked Marissa.
“Yes, of course,” said Hassan, reaching into a satchel around his shoulder to pull out a large stack of glossy titles, presenting them to her.
“Don’t show them to me — see which ones he wants.”
Hassan selected a gardening magazine and pressed the cover against the portal glass.
“Already read it,” said Jonah, punching the intercom.
“Next.”
The doctor picked a weapons and ammunition title next, presenting it for consideration.
“Christ, no,” exclaimed Jonah, angrily pressing the intercom button once more. “I think I’ve seen about enough of the real thing to last a goddamn lifetime.”
Hassan didn’t answer. Instead, he held up a dog-eared detective novel and several decade-old women’s magazines in quick succession, all left behind by the submarine’s previous occupants.
“Now you’re talking,” said Jonah with a smile. “Yes, yes, and yes.”
Marissa ran the pass-through hatch cycle again, exchanging the MRE’s for the magazines and novel. But despite his smile and jokes, Jonah still looked like he’d aged ten years in the space of a few hours.
Jonah punched the intercom on his end one last time as he slumped against the wall, ignoring the packaged meal he’d left for himself. Hassan could only imagine how Sun-Hi weighed on his mind. “I’m just going to sit here for a while,” he said. “Maybe try to sleep. Let me know if anything happens.”
“And Sun-Hi?”
“Keep her busy for now. I’ll tell her soon.”
Hassan descended the ladder to the command compartment slowly. He’d never seen Jonah quite so weary, the kind of bone-tired rooted more in soul than body. Best to leave him alone. After all, Jonah was never the sort to seek solace in others.
Vitaly was alone in the command compartment, the salvaged hard drives already partially disassembled into a snaking mess of cables and wet circuit boards. “How’s it coming?” asked Hassan.
“Broken data, my favorite,” said Vitaly without looking up from his computer console, his sarcastic tone a clear indication of his irritable disposition.
“Any success thus far?” pressed Hassan.
“No. But still easier than NK data. For them I had to run emulator to mimic very old system. New OS would not even read tapes.” He unplugged the first of the Japanese hard drives and booted up a second, their computer systems lapping up the massive repositories of data. The methodology made sense to Hassan — copy first, analyze later.
Distant noises from far above echoed throughout the Scorpion’s pressure hull, a strange mixture of churning swishes and pings as it passed. “What’s happening?” asked Hassan, a note of concern entering his voice.
“Many ship arrive,” said Vitaly, gesturing upwards with a small screwdriver without turning his head to look. “Coordinate rescue, I think. They will not find us here.”
Hassan considered the information for a moment. He wanted to press Vitaly for more, ask him why he wasn’t concerned, but finally decided against it. “Do you know what Jonah wants you to find in all that data?” he asked.
“No,” said Vitaly with a long sigh. “I am on — how do you say? Hunt of fish?”
“A fishing expedition?”
“Da, da, expedition of… ” Vitaly trailed off, glaring at a flashing cluster of red on the hard drive data map. “Chyort voz’mi, security footage ruined!” The Russian pounded a fist on the keyboard hard enough to make Hassan wince.
“Can it be recovered?”
“This not television. I am not Abby Sciuto of NCIS. No, I cannot magic recover data. Too many question— maybe you go away now?”
“Yes, of course,” stammered Hassan, backing up. “Can I get you anything, do anything else to assist?”
“Maybe get me MRE?” ordered Vitaly. “Any but enchilada of beef. I would rather eat shoe.”
Hassan sorted through the stacks of prepackaged meals in the galley. He was surprised with how well they’d held up in their immersion. Most were evenly crushed, but with their packaging, bilingual labels, ingredients, and preparation instructions were otherwise still intact. Setting aside the ones he’d been warned about, Hassan quietly unwrapped Vitaly’s meal — a macaroni and chili dish— and prepared it according to the written instructions. The small compartment was soon filled with powerful aromas, tempting Hassan to eat it himself and prepare another for the Vitaly instead. But he patiently scooped the mix out of the heated bag and onto a plate, walking it back to the command compartment. He resolved to silently leave it with the Russian and sneak away, bothering the helmsmen no further.
Vitaly was leaning over his computer console, intently tracing two long, intersecting lines southward from the North Korean coastline to their present location. Hassan gave him the plate, and Vitaly dug into the meal without even looking up from the screen.
“I find a… how you say? Da, I find common factor,” said Vitaly, mouth full of food.
“What is it?”
“Same object in radar data of both NK base and Japan carrier. Both cases small and discounted as threat by computer. Both detect less than ten minute before attack begin. Object size of bird only, maybe two bird, move very slow. But it fly too straight for bird. I trace both routes.” Vitaly tapped his screen, showing the two intersecting lines on the digital map. “The line cross here, at small island in north Philippines.”
“They have a common origin,” breathed Hassan as he leapt up to his feet. “Both attacks were launched from the same location.”
“But nobody believe us,” said Vitaly, a look of concern crossing his face. “The Japanese would sink us before we can show them. Even make phone call too dangerous.”
“You’re right,” said Hassan. “They won’t believe us. Not unless we come up with some kind of hard evidence. I’ll alert Jonah. Prepare to lay a course for the island — full silent running. Let’s find out who set us up.”
CHAPTER 14
Alexis sat on the command compartment chart table, legs swinging freely over the side as she absentmindedly contemplated the last of her cracker. It crumbled between her fingertips, stale and all but tasteless in the slowly souring air of the Scorpion. Sun-Hi was at the communications console, lost to the world as she concentrated on her oversize headphones. She’d probably played every file in the computer’s sound library ten, twelve times already. Yet she kept at the task with inexhaustible focus, barely even looking up when given her daily pre-packaged rations.
Vitaly stood watch at the helm station. He’d taken off his boots and propped his bare feet up over his computer monitor, letting the autopilot take the bulk of the navigational duties. Dalmar leaned against the nearest bulkhead, towering over Vitaly as the pair flirtatiously debated how long they could last without food before resorting to cannibalism. The Scorpion was all but silent, electric engines barely humming as the propellers gently fought a slight tropical current. Their island destination was close now, but Jonah’s internment in the decompression chamber had not yet come to an end.